I can’t convince you. (Possible Trigger Warning)

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I can’t convince you that you don’t want to die. I can’t. If you really want to die, you will, and nothing I say will be able to stop you. You know what will stop you? Yourself. That’s it. You have to make that decision, I can’t make it for you. It’s pretty obvious that I want you to continue living, if you haven’t figured that out yet, than you haven’t been paying attention. I love you, and I love you for many reasons, as do many other people along the way. I’m sure that they don’t want you to die, but again, they don’t have a choice. They never do. It’s all up to you to die, or even, to live.

I can’t convince you that dying isn’t worth it. Trust me it’s not, but I know pain, and I know pain can convince you that it is. What’s a bit of physical pain on top of the pain you’re already living with? I can’t explain that there are things that make life worth it, that there are things that are worth living through this hell for. That sometimes the rain is worth it, or a dog, or maybe your family. You won’t believe me when I tell you that those fleeting moments of happiness are worth all of the turmoil. How can I explain that every tear is worth shedding just for that moment of happiness? That moment you feel love? Maybe you’ll understand that living is worth it just for a spring breeze? Maybe it’s that cup of coffee on a cold night, or maybe it’s a notebook and a pen? I can’t explain it, because you won’t listen.

I know you won’t believe that life gets better. You can’t see it, you can’t see the future, and I can’t predict it. I can tell you a million and three times, and you won’t believe me. You won’t keep on living because I’m holding your hand, or because I’m here or because everyone else is here. If you don’t live for the rare moment of happiness, there isn’t a point to living. If you don’t believe that it’s worth it, you won’t try. It doesn’t matter that life is indeed worth sticking around for, because you won’t listen. I can sit in your car and tell you all the reasons you should stay, I can pull on your jacket, I can cry. I can scream at you for hours, and if you don’t want to, you won’t listen.

I can’t convince you that you don’t want to die. I can’t convince you that all of us want you to live. Listen to me just this once though, let me tell you how it feels. Not death, because I haven’t experienced it, even when I, myself screamed for life to end just to escape the pain. I begged for life to cease, but it didn’t. So I can’t tell you how death feels. I can only tell you what suicide makes everyone else feel.

Have you ever held someone’s little sister, just to hear her sob out the details of her brother’s face as he hung from the rafters? Have you ever held a mother who doesn’t understand why she couldn’t save her son? She doesn’t understand why I couldn’t either, I was your friend, how could I have not seen?! Do you know what it feels like to know that the back of her head is missing, so we can’t have an open casket funeral? Do you know what it’s like to know that her brain matter stained the wall? Have you tried to look a father in the eye after his eldest son took too many pills on purpose even though his toddler was in the same room? Have you tried to console the child whose mother decided that he wasn’t worth living for? Have you listened to the teenaged daughter talk about how maybe if she had just come home at curfew, just a few more times, maybe maybe maybe Dad wouldn’t have killed himself? Have you struggled to live, to fight against all of the pain, all of the hurt, just to watch someone give up everything? I can’t explain the pain, I can’t explain the deep ache that I feel in my chest as I remember watching the casket rolling away. I can’t.

Besides. I can’t convince you that you want to continue on, I can’t convince you that it’s worth it, I can’t convince you that I, we, love you enough. I can’t. Because you quit. Now, all we all have left is a patch of brown grass, and a piece of rock that supposed to symbolize everything that was you. Do you know what we have left of you? Memories. Memories, and pain.